The Gray Hearthfire
by Volldagora
Summary: It is a very, VERY short story or, rather, a point of view from a young breton who lives in the cold, harsh lands of Skyrim. I hope you enjoy this little fan fiction of mine (though that will be impossible with the given genre, is it?).


I always thought how nice it would be to live alone, away from all the problems of the world, away from the rebellion and the empire, but now? Now it ruined my life. It consumed my mind to the unknown void, filling it with more darkness than hope.

They said I was different. It wasn't their mouths that betrayed them, but the eyes and movements. I was a little breton at that time, small and tiny for the extreme cruelness of Skyrim. They, the nords, didn't like _everything_ that was different than their stereotypes. They would pick a fight, leaving you scarred and beaten with taste of blood, or, in my case, would simply ignore. But it wasn't just the nords.

My kin never said anything offensive on my account of looks or behavior; they loved me like any parents would. They are trying their best to motivate me for the things I would like to do in the future, even if it means hunting the animals. They would discourage me from making wrong choices and try to motivate me to do more improvements in my skills, but that just isn't enough.

Was it my face… or was it the personality? I do not know which would dominate the most, but I have noticed how the others don't seem to notice me. They don't see me in the middle of their company, listening to their chatter and pompous jokes. When I ask them a question – they just ignore with a little unimportance in my direction, even if no one talks at the moment. I get left behind; no one even bothers to ask me anything or invite me into their group unless I _happen_ to be there when they finally notice. It hurts more than the daggers and magic, sword and crossbow, or arrow and poison. I always sit alone. I hoped that someone would notice me, and talk to me not just like to any fool, but like a true listener and a speaker. A true friend, if you will.

I talked with my kin about the awkwardness. Without any conversationalists, I seem to get… isolated from the typical folk. I can't seem to talk anymore, only just to ma and pa and that's it. They are the only thing that will care for me and not dump me into oblivion, so what they told me when I pointed out my problem is that everyone's different in the mirror and reality. When I do look in the mirror – I see a pale ghost with long black hair, white pale eyes, and an ugly face that doesn't seem to bear any meaning of "humor". And the reality part? I am too soft to tell others in the face, yell, or scream. I don't express myself like that but I do seem to have a way with words, just not with the sound.

I never heard ma and pa talk about myself, at least not in my presence, others, however, do seem to remark that I should smile more to make people like me. I did, and it lied right in my face. I never trusted inferiors after that. I am young woman, they say, so I should get married soon and live my life. That's what my kin's friends told them, daring it even in my presence. My guess is that they just want me out of here so that they could cozy up to my ma and pa. After all, they are healers and tend to trust strangers more often. They are the priests of Mara, and others use them for their own greed. I ,though, give them a dirty eye. I was never able to tolerate the behavior others gave to my kin, and won't ever tolerate. Not any more, at least.

The day the sadness sat on my lap was in Hearthfire. It should've been beautiful. It should've been a glorious party for my birth. Instead, it was gray. Only I, my ma and pa _truly_ participated. Others just wandered around with their friends or were clinging to my kin. I liked Hearthfire, so I would sneak out during the party, and look at the beautiful leaves. Their transformation from green to gold, and fire red was very astonishing. I never understood why the others seem to ignore such beauty. I stared, and stared… waited. Nothing happened. Never did. My mind looped back to the lonely gray, as I cried at the riverside while the leaves washed all my tears back into the water.

Our village got attacked by the Thalmor. People, mer and men alike, ran from the evil as the flames and sparks consumed the wood and crushed the stone of our houses. Our settlement belonged to the Stormcloacks, one of the last ones in all of Skyrim. They just wanted to get rid of the still standing threat as fast as they could. And they did.

I was stuck in my house's living room while ma and pa were at the temple of Mara. The house was made of fine wood, so when they did decided to use fire – that's when fear struck me. The walls started to burn, slowly going into my direction. I was surrounded by fire, and knew nothing about magic as my passion was in the art of literature. I cried, screamed, banged my fists on the floor for anyone to hear me, but no one came. No one even noticed. Tears ran through my cheeks, eyes were stinging with flame, and poisonous gas has almost filled my lungs. I hated the world. Hated everyone. Why would anyone care for someone who was different? Someone who never knew how to properly talk, or read faces, or haggle, or fight, or cast magic… At that point, I hated, hated, and hated, until I came to love my relief of an endless pain.

Nowadays, mer wander into the ruins of what was once the last Stormcloack settlement. They established their research here and gathered everything they could find from the old burned tomes to the beautifully crafted arsenal. When they were doing their research, they never took a notice of a lonely, blue girl looking at them from the woods. They were just like the rest; ignorant and foolish. They should've looked when I stabbed one of them in the heart. They should've listened to me, should've… noticed me. I cried, looking at what I've become, looking at the darkness that keeps spreading further and further. I don't think I can control my thoughts anymore, maybe just a few minutes until I'll become a monster, just like those Thalmor, Daedra, and Dremora. My hope was lost long ago. Now, I am just as damned as the draugr and the skeletons.

The leaves… they are completely gray. I can't understand why I liked their joyfulness and contrast any longer.

I never loved Nirn, and never will for an eternity of my existence.

I _hate_ you.


End file.
